“We can fix that. I’ll call Estelle and get her seriously looking. What do you think? Four bedrooms? We’d have a couple spares. Could turn one into a home gym.”
As she listened to Troy painting this glorious future of them together, raising their child, she could feel her freedom and independence slipping away. As much as she was happy that he loved her and would stand by her, she wished that time could be reversed. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to consider what a baby would mean for her career and the badge she’d worked so hard for and valued so greatly.
-
Thirty-Five
Madison woke up to footsteps coming toward the bed.
“Hey, sis,” Chelsea said.
Madison slowly opened her eyes. Her entire body ached, and she was more exhausted than she ever remembered being. What I wouldn’t do for a coffee, she thought, then realized she’d have to cut back on caffeine—and wine!
Chelsea and her three nieces were standing on Madison’s left while Troy kept vigil on the right. Madison glanced at him as if to remind him that they’d agreed not to tell anyone about the pregnancy until she passed her first trimester. Wow, her life was never going to be the same.
“Aunt Maddy.” Chelsea’s youngest, Brie, who was five, threw herself on Madison.
“Oh, sweetie.” Chelsea pulled Brie back. “You have to be careful with Aunt Maddy. Hey, Troy.”
“Hi.” Troy smiled at her, and Chelsea returned a small one but kept her gaze on him for a bit. She seemed to suspect his good mood. Hopefully, she’d just credit it to Madison’s return to the world of the conscious.
“Jim would have been here,” Chelsea started, “but—”
“I understand,” Madison assured her, finding her voice better than before, but her throat still hurt, and her mind was fuzzy. Jim, her brother-in-law, would be at work. She’d love to be working herself.
“You going to be okay, Auntie Maddy?” Brie’s eyes were wide and wet.
Madison ran a hand over her head. “I’ll be just fine, sweetie.” Looking into her niece’s little face had Madison putting a hand tenderly over her lower abdomen.
“You sure?” Brie’s voice was a like a baby bird’s, soft but chirping, insistent on answers.
“I am.” Madison attempted a smile, but pain bolted through her.
“Make room for your sisters,” Chelsea told Brie.
She obeyed her mother, and Marissa, the eldest, came over and kissed Madison on the forehead.
“Glad you’re okay,” Marissa said.
Marissa changed places with Lacey, and her third niece kissed her on the forehead too.
She was feeling so blessed to have these beautiful girls in her life. She’d always loved being an aunt and watching them grow into their own individuals. Marissa was always more mature than her years, like she housed the spirit of an old soul. Lacey was quiet, and Brie was the troublemaker. Fire sparked and crackled in her eyes.
Chelsea addressed Troy. “Did the doctor say how she is?”
“I’m right here,” Madison said, managing to get it out in one breath. She hated being talked about like she wasn’t there. Terry and Cynthia did it enough.
“Sorry.” Chelsea laughed.
Brie was back at Madison’s side and holding her hand.
“So?” Chelsea prompted.
Madison gestured for Troy to go ahead.
“She has a couple bruised ribs,” Troy started. “They’re going to keep her for observation until Friday, and if all looks good, she can go home.”
Chelsea brushed a hand in Madison’s hair. If Madison had been in any condition to hug, it was certain her younger sister would have squeezed her. “So lucky.” She glanced at Troy. “Did you find the hit-and-run driver yet?”
Hit-and-run… Madison went cold.
“No.” Troy stiffened and looked at Madison. “But you can rest assured I will.”
“It’s disgusting that someone would do that.” Chelsea’s tone was sharp and indignant.
Blurred images. A black smudge. A face. But whose? It wouldn’t come into focus, just teetering on the edge of her consciousness. A searing pain buzzed in her temple. She put a hand there.
“Madison’s car is a write-off,” Troy said. “Whoever hit her had to inflict damage on their vehicle. Could be hurt themselves. We’ll find them.”
“A truck.” In her head, she’d screamed, but her voice returned to her ears at the volume of a whisper.
Troy moved closer to her. “You saw who did this?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Chelsea offered a smile of sympathy.
“What do you remember?” Troy asked.
“Not much.”
“A color of the vehicle maybe?”
“Black.” Answered on instinct. The black smudge.
“Any plate? Even a partial?”
She shook her head, though she kept the movement small and deliberate, not in any hurry to find out what else hurt. It was the face haunting her—she knew the driver, but her mind wasn’t cooperating.
“Anything else?” Troy asked.
There were several suspects who could be responsible. She and Terry could have gotten too close to Carson’s killer. Then there was the mob, the mystery woman, Roman Petrov himself, and the corrupt cops. But she couldn’t think about bringing all that up right now. Her mind was so groggy. “No.”
“It’s okay.” Troy put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. I’m going to call in about it being a black truck so people from the department know what we’re looking for.” Troy kissed her and left the room, his cell phone to his ear.
On his way out, Terry came in.
“There she is,” he said. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in a vase.
“You didn’t have to get me flowers,” she said.
“I wanted to. Ah, where should I— Hi, Chelsea, girls.”
“Hi,” her nieces chorused.
“Hi, Terry,” Chelsea said. “Here, give it to me.”
Terry handed her the flowers, and Chelsea made room on the already crowded table in front of the window. Madison hadn’t even noticed the smell until then or all the flowers around the room.
“Thanks,” Madison said to Terry.
“Don’t mention it.” He stayed at the end of the bed, like he was afraid to get any closer. He met her gaze and pressed his lips, and she had a feeling.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“Logically, I know that, but if I didn’t call you back to the station…” His voice petered out and disappeared.
“I was the one who—” Madison stopped talking there, a snippet of her memory seemed to have been misfiring. She couldn’t remember…
Chelsea, Terry, and her nieces were all watching her.
“I’m just tired, guys.”
“Yeah, we should get going,” Chelsea said, holding out her hand toward Brie and flexing her fingers for her daughter to take it, which she did. “I’ll stop by later,” her sister said as the phone on the side table rang. Chelsea’s eyes dipped to it. “I called Mom.” Chelsea grabbed it and answered, “Madison Knight’s room…. Yes, she’s going to be just fine. Doctor’s keeping her for a couple more days.” Chelsea looked at Madison. “Yeah, here she is.” She handed Madison the receiver and waved goodbye. Why did it feel like another hit-and-run?
“Hi, Mom,” Madison said and mouthed Sorry to Terry.
“Sweetie, are you okay? You have bruised ribs and they put you in a coma, but you’re fine now, right? Should I come up? I told your father we should get on the next plane—”
“I’m fine, Mom.” She had to use a steely tone, or her message would go right over her mother’s head. It still might. She tended to only hear what she wanted.
“You’re sure you’re—”
Madison rubbed her stomach, her thoughts on the baby growing inside her. The news would make her mother ecstatic, but she’d told Troy they’d wait to tell others, and she stood behind that. Anything could happen between now and delivery. “I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”
“Okay, but if you want us there, we’ll be on a plane immediately.”
“I know, Mom.” There was a time their relationship had been dicey. Every conversation was about Madison finding a man, settling down, having a family. That had finally eased up in recent months, and her mother even seemed to show Madison respect for what she had done to save Chelsea from the Russian Mafia hit man.
Terry dropped into the chair that Troy had vacated.
“Mom, I really should go. Terry’s here.”
“Okay.” One word, and her mother sounded hurt.
“I can call you back later,” Madison offered.
“Yes, okay, sweetie. Love you.”
“Love you.” Madison went to hang up, but the table was a little bit of a reach. “Terry—?”
“Yeah.” He sprang into action and returned the receiver to the cradle. “Mothers, eh. So obsessed with how their daughters are after a serious accident.”
She wanted to protest the serious part, but she had no recourse. Brain swelling, coma, bruised ribs. She was fortunate to be alive. Her fetus was fortunate. “I understand why she’s concerned,” she admitted. She was curious how Terry would react when he found she was pregnant. He’d probably be as excited as Troy, but he’d also find it extremely amusing. But enough thinking about that. “You catch Carson’s killer yet?” She struggled to sit up and found she didn’t have the strength. Her body was rebelling.
“Don’t you worry about—”
“You know me better than that. You were telling me that Carson suspected her boss of insurance fraud.” How could things from before the accident be so clear but the accident itself fuzzy? It hardly seemed fair. “Did you find any evidence?”
“Oh, yeah, we did. And Rossi will be going away for insurance fraud.”
“But for the murder?”
Terry shook his head. “I pushed him hard, and his alibi holds.”
“Did you get the files from Southern Life and see who Carson rejected?”
“We have the files, yes, but they still need to be worked through.”
“Hey. I hope you’re not talking about work. You should be getting rest.” Cynthia flew into the room, nudged Terry out of the way. “Oh my God. Maddy, I got here as soon as I could. I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.” She held out a teddy bear and angled him left and right as if he were dancing and defying gravity.
“Oh? For me?” Madison cooed dramatically. “You shouldn’t have.” She laughed but kept it shallow.
Cynthia grimaced. “You’re in a lot of pain.”
“You could say that, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“No, of course not. Bulldog can handle anything and everything.” Troy swept up on her right and put an arm on the bed over her head.
“You know I don’t—” Madison stopped talking when she looked up and met his gaze. His green eyes, though tired and bloodshot, still seemed to sizzle with life. She reached for his hand. She was going to point out yet again that she wasn’t a huge fan of his nickname for her, but right now that man could call her whatever he wanted. She was carrying his baby. Even if she repeated that a million times it would feel surreal.
“On the way in a nurse told me visiting hours are over in a few minutes. How do they expect everyone to stop by—” She paused there and took in all the flowers. “I see people from the department have been by.”
“Just you and Terry,” Madison said.
“Lots of people were here, Maddy,” Troy corrected. “You just didn’t know. When the accident first happened, the waiting room was over capacity. Many had to wait outside due to regulations.”
She smiled, feeling warm at people’s concern for her well-being. “Sergeant Winston?”
“Yep, he was here.” Troy pointed to a vase of daisies. “Those are from him.”
“The sergeant bought me flowers. Wow, who would have thought I’d see the day?”
“Room for one more?” Andrea Fletcher entered the room, carrying an arrangement in a square vase consisting of flowers Madison didn’t recognize.
“Hi.” Madison smiled at her, the future aunt to her child, the current police chief.
“Oh, honey, how are you?” Andrea was always so immaculately put together. Small, pointed facial features accentuated with modestly applied makeup—pale-pink lipstick and muted brown eyeshadow. Her long, straight brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and bangs framed her face.
Tears pooled in Madison’s eyes and she cursed herself, but exhaustion was also toying with her emotions. “I’m going to be fine.” She bit back the urge to say the baby would be too. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“Not a problem at all.” Andrea set them on a table, put a hand on her brother’s shoulder, and acknowledged Cynthia and Terry with a dip of her head.
The nurse from before popped into the room. “Visiting time is over.”
“Love you, Madison,” Cynthia told her.
“Love you,” she chorused back.
Terry waved goodbye and tried to sneak out. “Hey, I’ll be calling,” she told him. “Just because I’m in this bed doesn’t mean I’m off the job.”
“Ah, yes, it does,” Troy said. “It’s bad enough that you’re working all the time. Saturday nights, Sundays…”
Her partner’s gaze flicked to hers, and in that instant, she realized Terry had picked up on Troy’s saying she’d worked Saturday night. Her partner knew she’d cut out on him Saturday night. Now he’d be curious why.
Andrea left, and the nurse said to Troy, “You, too, Mr. Matthews.”
“I’d rather stay.”
“I’ll be fine, Troy,” Madison said. “Go home and get some sleep.”
He held eye contact with her for some time. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Okay.” He kissed her, hugged her, and left. But if she knew that man at all, he wouldn’t be crawling into bed; he’d be hunting down that black pickup, even if he had to search every garage and body shop in Stiles.
-
Thirty-Six
It took a lot of convincing and negotiation, but Madison finally got Troy to leave her side and go into work the next day. By the time he’d left, it was nearing ten thirty, according to her cell phone. She’d spent enough hours in the hospital bed, but as long as she was stuck there, she could still do something.
She started with her voicemail, but it didn’t hold much excitement. There was just one message from Dr. Talmadge’s office telling her to call. She was certain it was to inform her she was pregnant, but life had served the news another way. She made the call anyway just to completely rule out any fears of cancer. It turned out they were just wanting to notify her of the pregnancy. Just. As if it wasn’t going to change everything.
Next, she selected Terry from her contacts list. Surely, she could work the investigation from the hospital if she had to, but she’d at least like some updates.
Terry answered on the third ring. “Maddy?”
“I need you to bring me something to do. A laptop from the station, maybe some of Carson’s journals or access to those files that were unlocked.”
There was silence on his end.
“You there?”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Just get in here. I’m going mad.” With that, she hung up, trusting that Terry would appease her and come in.
But what she really wanted was to get out of the hospital and back to her life. She adjusted her position and groaned in agony at the pain emanating from her ribs. They would
have had her on medication, but due to the baby, it probably wasn’t as high—or as powerful—a dose as would have been preferred.
And all she craved was a cup of hot coffee, regardless of whether or not she’d be able to keep it down. It was hard to focus in on how her stomach felt with her other injuries having her foremost attention.
She still couldn’t remember too much about the accident. The images were only surfacing as blurred and disconnected. Beyond her conviction that it was a black truck, she couldn’t recall much else—except for probably the most important factor. She’d recognized the driver. But every time she tried to concentrate and bring the face into focus, her head would throb.
She even tried to conjure all the potential players—the people who could have wanted her injured or worse. The same suspects kept recycling in her mind. Someone related to the Carson murder, the corrupt cops, the mob, or Roman Petrov himself.
Had he even died? It wasn’t unthinkable that he’d staged his death, but why return to the same name? He was an arrogant bastard though, and his death had been on record for over twenty years. He might have supposed enough time had passed. A man like Roman could have many reasons for wanting to fake his death, but the foremost that Madison could think of was to escape prison. Again, it circled back to why use that name again? If this Roman Petrov was the Roman Petrov.
“Why can’t you just sleep?” Terry entered the room with a laptop under his arm and a charging cable in hand.
“Oh, come on. Where’s the fun in that?” She pushed the button on her bed to sit up straighter, changed her mind and angled it a bit more again. Gravity wasn’t her friend right now.
“You know if Troy finds out—”
“He won’t find out, and even if he does, he’s not my boss.”
Terry looked away.
“You’re afraid of Troy.”
He met her eyes and pinched his fingers on his free hand. “Just a little.”
She laughed, then stopped abruptly and gripped her side. “You really—”
What We Bury Page 18